Death's Bliss
by Penmaster51
Summary: A short story on a trio of men and the rebellion against their government in a futuristic and almost post apocly Earth. "...the numbness wash over him and the leader was no more..."  T for violence & swearing. Futher explanation in a summary inside.
1. Death's Bliss

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******DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable people, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original lyrics are the property of the songwriter and their band. The author is in no way associated with the band/owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

"Death's Bliss" is a short story that is bascially based off of the music video, "Bliss" by Muse, my favorite band of all time. The first chapter is essentially what I thought (a fantasy background story, if you will; like what if the video was just a snippet of a bigger story and that's how this short story was born) when I was watching the video- and so the story was born. Please enjoy!

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The world was a dark planet. A planet corrupted into chaos; rampaged by destruction from the humans that inhabited it. The world was a dark, deep and mysterious place and only one full city stood. The full city was robotic and completely metal; most things were covered in thin layers of dirt and dust. No one could see life anymore. No one saw large, grassy green meadows or woodland places where wildlife roamed.

Life? There was no life anymore. Normal citizens led boring lives; the most exciting they probably could possibly have was danger and everyone avoided danger at all costs. Except prisoners. Only prisoners- people who risked the danger to have a true life- led exciting lives. These people, of course, were the prisoners kept at the very core of the outskirts of the full city. A hole, the core was; surrounded by flat fields of metal. A few feet were dug in secrecy long, long ago for each bad deed the founders saw and heard about. You could imagine this hole got very deep, very fast. Some say it goes through the whole world.

They're right. And which is why the government allowed those people to live. Not to scare the public into thinking that the world is failing, but to spread the truth. Because as soon as those people came public with their ideas, they were trialed for conspiracy. No one knew why or how this happened; but people had grown uncurious in their ways and soon went on with their lives, like nothing happen. They did not care.

The people, however, were not forgotten by the government. Put into shades of black, white and grey uniforms, the prisoners as they were called were taken to the core. And put into little antigravity cells; many stayed there until they had gone insane and were killed. That did not take long. No contact with people. The only other thing you would see is the food and water given to you at meal times. And occasionally, you would catch a glimpse of a body falling down the core; the government's ultimate way of capital punishment…

A rebellion was rising in the world and the city was the one hiding the main cooperates of who started it. Their leader hid in the city, below the government's very nose! He had been safe for many years, his two other partners the ones daring to leave the city. Of course, it was romoured that he had not wanted to stay in the city at all- but he was told it was for his own safety,

He was the leader of them all. The one the government had been digging and digging for; he was the match behind the wildfire that was taking over the world. But this rebellion had become too late; the man was alone, his two closet partners-in-crime captured a year or so back. They were in their cells, watching above from time to time. But he was the one the government wanted so badly! And now they had him; victory almost felt too sweet to a few but the rest were full of morbid joy. Finally this man could be destroyed!

His partners wondered if he still lived. But their memories were muffled and foggy; they could not remember correctly. What did he look like? Where did they see him last? But where were their cells? Inside the core; on each side, little cells were placed so the other prisoners could watch the assassination that was going to take place. Of course, with no human contact, they would never know what is going on until the body of the person goes by.

The man faced Death like a man. He showed no emotion; a blank sheet of metal. But as he stepped onto the very long ledge, alone, he felt sadness grow into his eyes. He had failed. His task is now left to his followers and he would never see the end- good or bad. He just wanted bliss, joy and happiness. No, he truly wanted peace. But in this world the planet had become, peace was unheard of.

His red hair swayed gently in the breeze from the air coming up from the core. Red hair- the government had forcively dyed it. Red to remind him of the blood he had shed; the blood they were after. He thought about the wind brushing his face instead of Death. Refreshing, he thought blankly. Such a devastating thing the core was and here it is, calming his soul before it faces its ultimate demise. The irony would have been funnier on a brighter, different day.

He spreads his arms out, like he was going to fly and takes the final step and this time, no flat metal ledge is there to meet him. He falls over, into the core. At first, it is peaceful and then his mind starts to break down. He is dying now; Death will greet him at the end. And soon, his body starts to refuse it. The flying; he twists and turns but no avail. It was gravity's law here and the law was that he would fall until the end. Then he will float and die, forever lost to the universe… yes, that's how his followers described it…forever lost.

His voice comes to him at that moment. A deep, beautiful voice; something his followers had called the voice of the heavens. The words formed on his tongue, bubbling and fighting to come out. There was no fight in him left already and so he sang. Hopefully his partners will hear it but he knows they may not remember…

The man in the grey, loose sleeve floats to his window. There was a wind in his cell from time to time- he didn't understand but perhaps it was some sort of battle tactic the government was using. For once, the antigravity cells seemed to be working with him today. But for all the leader knew, it was Fate bringing them together one last time. He wandered over to the window, an oddly shaped thing. He paused in front of it, his blue eyes looking up and down at the wall in front of him, across the core. Today, he felt his memory was terrible. He had lost count of the days long ago but still felt… needed to do something! And so he waited.

He wondered if the government was going to kill someone, shoot them down the core. He would love to see another face again; even a soon-to-be dead one. His dark brown, spiky hair seemed to stand on end too; like it knew what was coming… such a silly thing to assume! To think your hair knows something is going to happen…

He looks up and out his window, his eyes narrowing. What is what? Is it falling? For a moment, he hopes it's someone but no emotion displays on his face. No happy, go-lucky has touched his face in months, even years! Then the body goes by.

Red hair flicking in the wind. At first, his brow pulled into a small frown. He knew that hair, though it had not been red the last time he saw it. Last time he saw it, it was black as the midnight sky with no stars- he had dyed his hair to match that, hopefully confusing officers when they saw him from afar for the leader.

_The leader_. The words in his head were deafening though not a sound was heard in his cell.

A bright red shirt flapping, free of the pant's hold; the pants were a shiny, almost leather-like appearance. The prisoner watches as the man falls, past his cell. The con of being on the top, most part of the core- everything comes and goes in the blink of an eye.

He closes his eyes and slowly opens them, waiting for the tears to come. His partner, his lifelong friend! Going to meet Death in the end... He waited for them and none came- at all. He merely continues to stare out the window, remembering not to forget what he has left of his friend. A great heaviness weighs on his shoulders; something he knows he'll never get rid of.

As soon as that man flew by, this man lost all but a shred of hope. He hoped for one thing- not for the world to be free again, for the rebellion to win- but for his friend to enjoy his fall. For his friend to enjoy singing (he saw the man's lips moving, even from here) his last song and to die a happy death. A death that felt complete.

Perhaps he will. Perhaps he won't. The prisoner knew that he could only hope but hope is an emotion and not an action. He could do nothing but stand here and think of him falling. He was glad he only saw him for a moment; to remember him when the sensation of free-falling was still fresh and young.

The leader spun and twirled, singing. He felt the words shake his vocal cords and felt the air being rushed out of him, but sang nonetheless! He was free of the burden of leading now. He was always looking for new dangers, new challenges to face; ones that would be quite a challenge. He knew he had found his ultimate challenge as soon as his foot stepped off that ledge and he also knew another thing.

This was a challenge and danger he would never defeat.

The second partner looked up; he had seen the body drop, merely a little speck to him. But the brightness was uncanny; he knew who was falling the moment he could make out the flying redness.

Every rebel knew that the government had publicly came out and stated that from now on, only the leader of the rebellion shall wear red when he's executed. Obviously, they meant to keep that promise and dyed the leader's hair. The second prisoner felt sorry for him; but perhaps the leader enjoyed the very striking difference… he was always an odd fellow…

He frowned, trying to recall a name. No name came. Today, his memory was especially bad. All he knew that this man, the one falling down to past his cell, was the leader and his friend.

Nothing more. He bowed his head slowly, allowing his eyes to drift close as the man past. Yes, that was him. The red hair… the moving lips… the flailing arms… everything screamed the leader and this man could do nothing to stop the Death the leader was going to meet.

He pulled away from the window, deciding to spin around until he would go mad and fall asleep. He spun and almost danced though he was never a dancer. His feet touched the walls of his cell and he pushed away, floating slowly between his two walls; the one on his left and the one on his right.

The leader thought he had saw his partners. But he had gone too fast to notice; all he knew is that they would know who he was when he fell down. That is, if they were still in their cells and not already on the other side, with Death and waiting for him at the end. If they were, at least he would no longer be alone. But there was no true other side.

The first prisoner refused to open his eyes as he floated, trying not to make a lot of movements. His chest felt like he couldn't breathe but yet, every other second, he felt the small wave of air go through his nose. For a moment, he wanted to stop it and end it all. He wanted to be with the leader- he didn't care if he had any chance, no matter how big or how small, of getting out of the core. He wanted out with Death, like the leader… like his friend.

He was trying to bring back the lyrics of the song he knew the leader was singing. He could only think of one word and he wasn't sure what it meant. The title of the song or the emotion he would feel if he died along with the leader? Bliss.

He opened his eyes, somersaulted and touched the floor with his hands, while pushing his feet against the ceiling. He wanted to escape; his mind rattled the emotionless cage he had set up in his mind to keep partially sane and his mind screamed for freedom. But his body did not listen; around and around he went, touching every little corner of his metal hole as he could…

The leader truly felt like he was flying upside down. He was going headfirst one moment and the next, his arched leg pointed towards the bottom. He almost had lost a sense of… everything. Well, not everything; most things. He knew he was going down, not up; that was about it.

The words were like soothing honey to his throat. He seemed to breathe easier (though he knew that was all in his head for that would go against the laws of physics) while singing and the twirling reminded of him what he would have been stuck in till he finally fell over did. His friends were probably still stuck in there. And he pitied them.

Perhaps the government would kick them off the face of the planet too, so they could be together. He was becoming selfish and he knew it; but he wanted nothing more than to be with those two that completed his life. If he had been dying with them or knew they were going to be there at the end, Death would seem half as scary.

Suddenly, he was falling on his back and he felt scared. _Where are they? _He thought. Where are his friends…

The second prisoner did not dare to look out his window; spinning and spinning he went. He would keep this memory forever, he knew this, but it felt good to be strong enough to keep it at bay. It became a game in his head. A fun little game… perhaps he would be the first one to die of the two- they both knew they were here. They could feel it but they were almost high maximum prisoners. Only those type of prisoners were put in the core's cells.

The first prisoner had floated back to his window. He felt an evil emotion in his gut; it twisted and turned like he had ate something bad. But he knew this feeling all too well; hatred. Anger. Fury. He frowned again, glancing at the core's middle. His arm reached out and his palm hovered above the glass. He knew if he touched that glass, he would feel like he was completely trapped. That this wasn't some trick illusion…

Still, he dared and hovered his hand above. He felt alive again; he felt the rush of danger and the adrenaline of challenging something. Even if it was as useless and stupid as this. Alive… he hasn't used that word in a long time.

The leader flailed his head around, singing on top of his lungs. He wanted to scream it; shout and defy Death's almost overwhelming silence but that would break the spell he was putting himself under. He didn't want to be truly afraid and numb until he reached the outer universe… whenever that may come.

The second prisoner looked up, feeling quite dizzy and alone. He wondered if the leader had reached the bottom yet or met Death. He wondered if his other partner had seen the leader fall; he wondered what his friend, the one still trapped inside a cell, was feeling…

The leader saw it. It was almost exactly like the "white light" movies and books had portrayed as Death seemed like. But he suddenly knew he wasn't meeting Death right away; he held out a long note, letting it fade. He knew this song by heart and the beat was in his head; he could hear the drums, the bass and guitar and all the other wonderful instruments. Yes, he could hear it perfectly even if everyone else couldn't.

The leader felt small as he passed from the core, it spitting him out like a bad flavored candy. He floated now; he was no longer falling to impending doom but floating on Cloud Nine's evil twin, the one that tricked you into thinking you were on the original Cloud Nine.

He felt the cold air of the universe and wondered if he should hold his breath. That would stop the song of course but it may give him a few more moments on consciousness before everything went dark and his mind took its final pulse before his body and soul were destroyed.

No, he would sing. He would sing until he lost unconsciousness. Then he would fade and die.

He glanced at his arms; black lines traced where his veins were. What had he done that for? He was already forgetting. The blackness around him was covered in shades of dark blues and purples; dotted with little glowing stars that were only small circles. He waited for his cue to start singing again.

He was falling facing Death; he was falling on his back, like he was laying down to go to sleep. It switched and changed for him so much; he wondered if he was too proud to not lay on his back, because he was trembling on the inside.

He sang again, his voice taking up most of the oxygen in his lungs. As he spun and floated down (now he wasn't sure if he was floating or falling; he had forgotten what the difference was between the sensations), he saw shooting stars.

He did not wish. His wishes were useless now. Death was near; he could feel it in his numbing body, his fingers slowly turning blue and his eyesight becoming hazy…

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his restless and panicked soul. He felt the brightness leak through though; it burned his eyes, like he was looking directly into the Sun. The light was the purest of all the lights, artificial or natural, he had seen in his life. Is that why it hurt so much? This light was light in its rawest form.

He held out the last note and then he fell silent. He slowly turned, realizing his body was weighing which way to fall. Perhaps he was too proud to lay on his back, ignoring doom. He met the light, head on- just like he had led the rebellion.

The last few lines of the song burned in his head; he had memorized them long, long ago. Wasn't everything long, long ago? It seemed to be. He kept his eyes close, even though the light was completely burning away at him.

_Give me_

_All the peace and joy in your mind_

_I want the peace and joy in your mind_

_Give me the peace and joy in your mind_

His body spiraled into the light; it consumed him like it did all of its meals. His body disintegrated and for a moment, he felt excruciating pain. His whole body was on fire! Then it cooled off and he sighed; he let the coolness, the numbness wash over him and the leader was no more…

The second prisoner shunned all light from the window, falling into the darkness that his mind was turning into. He felt the leader pass on or at least, he imagined he did. He wanted to scream and shout; to sob and die but he could do none. He could do the first too but felt… there… was… no… reason… to… fight… anymore. He gave up the battle.

The leader was gone.

The first prisoner felt his body shake and tremble- in agony and fury. He wanted to break and smash things; he had never felt so angry before! He wanted to smash the window in front of him to pieces and leap into the core, follow the leader like the true friend he was…

The second prisoner shook his head, refusing to think of the rebellious thoughts of breaking out. They were the reason he was in that whole mess and they were the reason the leader was no more.

The first prisoner narrowed his eyes into angry slits. He too felt the leader pass on. Why had he not taken him and the other man with him?

He was confused and his chest ached. He stood, floating and staring down the core. He would follow soon- he was damn sure of that. But for now, he could only wait. But while he waited, Fate stepped in again and soon, the wheels of her moving became active.

The rebellion was moving. They were looking for their leader and their co-leaders. Where were they heading? The full city… and the core. But no one knew this but the rebellion group; they had planned it as soon as the first leader (the second prisoner) disappeared. They were going to rescue them!

Nether prisoners felt they were going to be saved. The man that had lead them through their crazy lives was gone. He was gone! Accepting this, the first prisoner felt the wild wave of emotion wash over his body. This is what he has been waiting for! Instead of breaking down like he thought and hoped for, only a small reaction came.

A single tear rolled down from his eye as he stared out the window.

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People  
No, the characters aren't _directly _Matthew Bellamy, Dom (Dominic) Howard and Chris Wolstenholme; in a way, they _star _as the main characters. The main characters are, essentially, their own characters- I suppose (think of them as actors, if that's the only way you can wrap your head around it, lol). And for the people who were confused by how I "named" the characters, here is some enlightment on your confusion (hopefully).

The Leader- aka Matt Bellamy (he never gets a true name; will always be referred to as "The Leader"; minor character from now on)  
The First Prisoner- aka Dom Howard (does get a name later on; will be the main, _main _character)  
The Second Prisoner- aka Chris Wolstenholme (does get a name later on; main character)


	2. Underground Chills

******DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable people, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original lyrics are the property of the songwriter and their band. The author is in no way associated with the band/owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**And the story contiues my friends...!**

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His body screamed and his body screamed for him to speak, to raise his voice in fury. He felt his lips open and close, like a fish out of water and allowed to lay in the Sun, baking to its Death. He felt everything was crashing down on him.

He couldn't do it. He… just… couldn't… do it!

He felt weak and very small; a forgotten, dried-up autumn leaf lost to the giant pile. Of course, he's only seen those images from old photographs they find. But the feeling was all the same. He felt small and bursting with emotion.

The emotions banged against the walls he put up. They were putting up one hell of a fight too; he shoved and pushed them down, trying so hard to stay depressed. It was easier to deal with depression in his cell than anger. But he couldn't win this battle.

His lips bled as he bit into them and suddenly, the roar gurgled in his throat and he felt rush up his chest. His voice came back to him in a head-spinning rush. He howled like he was in pain and tried to stop spinning. He touched the floor and viciously shoved himself off it, banging and pounding the walls. He howled and screamed; he shrieked till his throat was dry and his head was pounding with his ears ringing.

He cried as his body slowly drifted towards unconsciousness. They rolled down his cheeks, leaving wet trails of sadness behind them. He didn't bother to wipe them away; he knew if he did, they would just keep coming anyway. He watched them drop off his face and slowly float beside him until they touched his clothing, soaking into the fabric.

He felt like it was a hundred years until they came. But his head told him it was the middle of the night; how long was he asleep? He did not care. He knew he was at his end. He slowly peeled his eyes open then squinted towards the door, knowing what was hiding behind it. His fingers twitched at the thought of them; his fingertips burned in fury and there was an awful taste on his tongue.

Hatred. Pure hatred.

He felt like he could kill them with his bare hands. He imagined, with his eyes closed, his hands wrapped around their throats and gripping with wide, almost white eyes and a victorious and insane smile on his face. He felt his body spinning and floating in his cell and when he opened his eyes, he realized he was curled and his arms slightly outstretched, his hands wrapped around the invisible throat.

He squeezed his hands until they interlocked and he imagined the life draining from their eyes, their lips turning blue and their nails scratching into his hand's skin, making them bleed. He would kill them. He was hell bent on it.

He howled again and repeated the other day's actions. Pounding and banging; he felt his body protest as he slammed against the wall, roaring nonsense at the world in his little cell. He screamed and shouted at the top of his lungs, feeling his body slowly pulse with pain.

The pain was awakening something in him. A terrible beast that imagined Death in its head and didn't care it would never achieve that. He growled and gritted his teeth, his hands turning into fists as his sides. He stopped pounding and allowed the antigravity cell to pick him off his feet.

He became like a laying statue; his eyes could've burn holes into the ceiling above them if he stared just a bit harder. So much pent up emotion was in his body that his mind had no idea how to deal with it. The emotions gathered up in his gut and twisted and churned his stomach acids; it made him sick but yet he would not give in. He fought the bile in his throat till it back was where it belonged and his face glistened from a thin sheen of sweat on it.

His breathing was hard; his throat burned every time he breathed, whether through his nose or through his mouth. It reminded him of reality, how he only gets one water container at each meal time and has a limited time to drink it and no refills. His lungs were red hot; it felt like he had sniffed burning hot sand into them.

He had never dealt with such raw emotion, even when he was free before his imprisonment. It was completely maddening and he needed to get out of here. He swam towards the glass, pounding on it with a small, pale fist. He screamed, pressing his cheek to the cool glass and let the ear shattering shrieks exit his mouth despite the protest in his body.

Maddening… purely maddening…

As the first prisoner slowly drifted back into unconsciousness, they moved in. White masks obscured their faces, to protect their identity from the prisoners. The government wasn't completely positive how sane the prisoners were in the core and didn't wish for any of their men and women to get hurt because the prisoners chose to stalk them after they saw the faces of the people who worked for the "enemy".

The uniformed people turned off the antigravity in the cell and the first prisoner fell to the floor. He woke with a jolt, his eyes widening in realization what was happening. He scrambled up but stumbled and wobbled so wildly he collided with the floor again and the air whooshed right out of his lungs.

He screeched angrily as the uniformed people entered. He crawled to his knees, cowering like a cornered and caged animal. He curled his lip and hissed, using the wall to his left to stand up. His hands turned into fists and he noticed the glistening needle in one of their hands. He wanted to take a step back but the wall stood behind him and the enemy stood in front of him.

An old saying came to his mind _I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place._ That saying was older than he was! Though he considered very early thirties young.

He stared at the people, whom were closing in on him and he lounged at them, only to realize a second too late that was a bad idea. He saw the needle glint in the light of the cell; he felt the metal slip into his skin and his muscles tightening as the liquid inside of it was shot into his body. The first prisoner fell like a rock to the floor.

When his body did hit the floor, it made a low and deep _thud_ noise. The uniformed people glanced at each other and nodded in unison before they bent down to examine the body. One pulled out a foldable stretcher from their pocket and pressed the little silver button on it; it unfolded itself and they carefully picked up the body of the man before they placed him on the stretcher and left the cell.

The second prisoner's antigravity was cut off long before the uniformed people came and got him.

He sat right in front of the window, his ankles crossed and his big arms wrapped around his legs with his chin resting on his knees. He felt so alone and was watching what he was thinking very carefully. He was trying to avoid thinking the government turned off the antigravity because they were going to get rid of him.

He shuddered; it was a ripple effect through his body. His head shook and then his neck hair stood on end; his spine tingled and his fingers twitched. It was like a little spasm inside itself, he supposed. He sighed heavily and tilted his head, so that his cheek lay horizontally on his knee.

He heard the footsteps outside the door; it was so deadly quiet in his head and in the cell. He turned around as he heard the door slide open. His face was pale and his eyes were hollow; the uniformed people stopped in the middle of the cell, realizing how broken this man was.

The one before still had fight inside him. This one seemed completely forgotten and destroyed.

But suddenly, there was a flash of anger in his eyes. A flash of anger that seemed to turn his once gentle, sea blue eyes into a dark raging storm blue; suddenly, there was this deep burning fury inside his eyes. He stood up, craning his neck to show the muscle that had yet to disappear from his body.

His breathing became uneven. His heart sputtered out heartbeats as the adrenaline pumped through his body. He thought out the steps to attack them; the dark fury was consuming him and he randomly thought he was always the rational one of the trio. Apparently he was just like his friends and for once, he didn't seem bothered that he wasn't thinking rational anymore.

It felt good to feel a bit insane, a bit intimidating because they didn't know what to expect from him.

His lip twitched but he couldn't bring himself to pull it into a smirk or sneer. He stared at the people before them, waiting for a sign of something. One of them uncapped a needle, nodding to his or her comrades. The second prisoner felt his nostrils flare at the sight of the gleaming metal needle. The pale green liquid inside sloshed inside of it, against the clear glass where it was contained.

A few beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and the person holding the needle, gave a grin. That was a big mistake.

With a big breath, he screamed and attacked the person with the needle, able to land a strong punch onto their nose and feel the satisfaction as the bone crunched underneath. The person wailed underneath him and the prisoner heard the clink as it rolled away from their hand, onto the ground. He pounded and pounded on the person; it could've been a woman, it could've been a man- he did not care.

The person below him was the enemy. The person below him was no longer seen as human anymore. They worked for the very inhuman government; the men who ran the world and were heartless and soulless. They cared for no one but themselves. The person below him and the people surrounding him were guilty by association- whether that was fair or not.

The needle was injected into his shoulder and he felt his upper body go completely numb; his hands and arms went limp and hung from his side. He slumped over and fell to the floor, his eyes wide open and his mouth ajar as if he was going to speak.

The uniformed people were panting from their frenzy panicked mode. The person still laid on the floor, rolling on their back and groaning, their hands covering their bloody and broken nose. Another person walked over to them and helped them up from the ground, patting their shoulder to comfort them.

Anger pulsed through the uniformed person and he swung his leg back and landed a kick on the shoulder of the prisoner. It would be a big nasty bruise by the time the man would wake; he would wake up with a throbbing pain. As the uniformed person brought up his foot to pound onto the man's chest, two of the people grabbed their arms and dragged the person out, kicking and flailing around.

The two people, who were left, shrugged at it and brought out the second prisoner same as they did with the first prisoner. Out on a little stretcher and they struggled at the numb and heavy man's weight but got him to the hospital wing in time to sit down and to catch their breath before removing their white uniforms.

After stripped of the snow white outfits, it was revealed the two last people were a man and a woman. They moved to the first prisoner first, removing his shirt to examine his chest. Bruises covered his left side; small ones but showed imprints of the wall. They were already turning an ugly yellow-brown color; they could be left unintended besides some balm that would hopefully make the bruise less tender.

The woman shook her head slightly. But then moved onto his chest; no broken ribs and no bruises covered his skin there. But little scars were seen all around his body! Just little ones; like paper cuts that ran one centimeter too deep and scarred. She sighed and glanced at her assistant. He nodded and with a little breath mask, he covered the man's mouth and pumped anesthesia into him so they could perform surgery.

The doctor knew that rebels loved their scars and as she stared at this man, he would not be the man he was with the scars should she take them off. She held the silver knife, gleaming like new polished metal. She stared at his body and glanced up at her assistant. He waited, to see if he was needed. She shook her head and placed the scalpel down; the man immediately took off the mask from the rebel and did not worry on how much was already in the man's body.

She checked his eyes, mouth, ears; his mouth seemed unusually dry. She squirted a silver liquid into his mouth and the man rubbed the first prisoner's throat to have him swallow it. The liquid would give him a damp enough throat and mouth to speak hopefully. They moved onto his back.

Carefully, they flipped him gently over. The woman ran her fingers over the man's tense back, her eyes blank of any expression or emotion. The man stood on the other side; he was the assistant not the doctor. She glanced at him.

"Relax his muscles."

The government said to soothe anything that needed of soothing treatment. The doctor only assumed this fell into the category. They soothed the muscles, massaging them into relaxation; the sweet scent from the liquid they used was making their head spill so they took a moment to move to the next man.

It was mostly the same thing, except for the bruises. And when the woman shined a little light into the man's eyes, she knew that the medicine they probably needed the most was inside the head and they weren't allowed that. It had to remain physical, they told her. Something that would heal or soothe or whatever the case may be, on its own.

After the rest of the examination, she passed them as healthy. Her assistant looked at her, his eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses. She waved him away, to go get the others and she stayed in the room, alone with the men.

She pitied them. They were up against a formidable force; the government had the most weapons, the best organized army and the supposed best intelligence of the world. These men had lost their leader, barely had any good weapons, were spread across the whole world in little bands and the only ones who were capable of leading where the true leader left off were laying right in front of her.

She sighed. She wished them the best of luck. After all, her sister was somewhere in the southern-east corner of the world; she was part of the rebellion, her sister was. The doctor didn't think it was the smartest idea- after all, there was a high possibility of the government winning and all the rebels being put into prison for the rest of their lives- but she loved her sister and would do anything to keep her alive.

So did she consider herself a traitor? No. More like a double agent, really. She brought her watch to her pink lips and licked them nervously before pressing the almost invisible button on the side of the silver watch. She spoke slowly.

"Co-leaders in the wing. Repeat, co-leaders in the wing."

There was a beep in response and she took off the watch, dropped it on the ground and slammed her heel into it. The watch shattered like glass and she stomped on it again and again, until it was almost like chunky dust particles lying on the tile flooring of the hospital room, in the hospital wing. She swept it up quickly and poured it into the sink; she turned on the water and watched the stuff disappear in the water right before her eyes.

The rebels never told her about the metal the watch was made out of besides that it was very fragile and almost magically disappears in the water, communication devices inside of it and all. The doctor shrugged, trying to shake the slightly guilty feeling she was getting away. For her sister, she told herself. For her sister.

And now she prayed that the rebellion was ready for what they were about to face because even she didn't know what the government had in store for these two men.

As she turned away from the prisoners, her assistant brought in the two people who would dress the men in the citizen uniforms that people of the full city (no one knew its real name anymore) had to wear. Of course the government would take every chance it could get to humiliate the men.

They were full jumpsuits. The coloring consisted of mainly smoky grey with silver fabric where the zipper in front was and the fabric underneath the zippers on the breast pockets of the jumpsuit. There were little pockets on both sides of the chest. There was also a small and short collar at the base of the throat.

They were just generic jumpsuits. Rarely anyone wears them nowadays except when the work rules called for them. But nonetheless, the government made these men- great men, the doctor was told by her sister the last time she saw her; men who would change the course of the world and universe- wear them.

The doctor looked at the two men who finished dressing the prisoners and they turned to her.

"The government invites you, Doctor, to come see what their scientists have been experimenting with," one man spoke. His voice was monotone and low. She nodded, agreeing to come; she knew her voice would give away her guilt and nervousness. She, with her excited assistant (there was a little line of sweat on his brow and he always sweated when he got excited), followed after the two still uniformed men.

She gave one last fleeting glance at the men in the hospital wing and she saw four more uniformed men (they couldn't have been women; they were far too burly and thick) come and pick up the stretchers. She watched them carry the two co-leaders away. For the doctor, that would be the last time she ever saw those men.

She was brought to a room and left there when the government's highest officials came up on a big screen in the room. She stared at it in awe as she listened to them. They knew she was a traitor- as they called her- and that she was being given the capitol punishment for it. She was still in awe as two officers came in, in their specific dark blue jumpsuits, arrested her and brought her underground.

She had been working at the hospital at the core for years and never once knew or even heard a rumor about a secret underground maze system going away from the core. As the officers pushed her into the room and slammed the heavy metal door shut, she looked around. She notice a small black camera, with a little blinking green button to let her know it's on and working, in the right corner of the room. She knew the whole government was watching; they were behind the little evil black box.

The reason for the underground rooms and hallways were that they were used for a secret way of dealing with traitors and other high ranking criminalists. Of course, these were the criminals who weren't quite worthy of the core.

The underground maze used to kill those people because no one ever heard their screams of pain as the lasers burned away at their flesh…


	3. Prisoner

******DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable people, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original lyrics are the property of the songwriter and their band. The author is in no way associated with the band/owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Thank you Ha-Za-A for the review! I was overjoyed to hear your review and thank you again, for the review & compliments ;) And onward my friends!**

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At first, when his mind drifted back into consciousness, the first prisoner thought he was still in his cell. He leapt up so quickly, everything spun around madly and for some odd reason, felt like his wrist was going to snap then he felt himself falling. With a gasp, he landed right on his tailbone and a shot of pain ran up his back.

He blinked furiously, trying to figure out where he was.

The room was almost pitch-black. But he felt it moving; the pace was either so fast or so slow, they weren't picking up any bumps or ditches. His hands groped beneath him and felt the cool touch of metal below his fingertips. He gritted his teeth as he straightened himself out, stretching his now strained back. He pulled himself into a regular sitting position and slouched, trying not to put too much weight on his back.

As his eyes adjusted, he registered that he wasn't in his prisoner outfit anymore. He ran his left hand over his right arm, feeling the almost skin-tight leather-like fabric gently. He was still slightly in shock but did in fact register that he was wearing a jumpsuit of some kind. It was too dark to notice colors since it was night, there was no need for color.

Was it night?

Or was it just really, really dark?

He wasn't sure.

He looked around; his hands were placed a few inches away from where he sat. Suddenly, he could make out a figure in the corner of the cage. He reached out, frowning and squinting to try and see who it was. Then felt a tug again on his right wrist. He looked down and with his left hand, felt his right one.

The obvious crystal clear cuff was tightly bound around his hand. It was a fabric like object; not metal like way back in the two-thousands and further. It clung to the skin just loosely enough for the blood to keep flowing at a normal rate; it was impossible to break out or at least, practically since someone has yet to break out of it. But yet, it still clicked closed like the old metal versions. The government had many secret organizations that came up with these odd contraptions.

The first prisoner shrugged it off. He swallowed nervously and continued on squinting in the dark, making out only a large mass sitting the same way he was. When a voice spoke a few minutes, the man flinched in surprise.

"It's been a long time."

The voice sounded like it could have belonged to an elderly man but with a pounding heart, the first prisoner realized this man was only but a year or so younger than him, though it never looked that way. It had been a long time since he had seen his friend- after all, he was the first one caught and the first prisoner was with the leader at the time.

But the first prisoner still could not find his voice. He remembered screaming and howling and wailing but in his cell; but those weren't words. That was pent-up emotion bursting out like water from a broken dam giving way. His screaming didn't form any words but anyone could have known their meanings from just hearing him wail.

"They're taking us somewhere."

His voice was tired- very tired. And hoarse; he obviously haven't spoken in a while as well. He sounded like he was still half unconscious; he was fighting to stay awake the whole ride to where ever they were going. The first prisoner could only image the dark circles underneath the sea blue eyes.

He blinked his smoky blue-grey eyes and tilted his head, sighing. It felt good to just sit there in another person's presence. He felt wetness go down his cheek and he sniffed, brushing his cheek against his knee. He heard a raspy chuckle and scowled in the man's direction. After a few more moments of silence, his friend spoke up again.

"Still won't talk, eh?"

Silence.

"You'll find it. Don't worry…" There was a heavy sigh and a few heartbeats of him shuffling around to make himself comfortable. At least he was placed in a corner; he had something to lean on and fall asleep slightly comfortably. The first prisoner did not- he was stuck in the middle of the cage.

The first prisoner wasn't sure how long it was until he heard small snoring from the corner where his friend was. He laid on the cool floor, shuddering at the metal's cool touch and had only an inch all around to move with, so he had to make sure the chain was too taught in this position. It wasn't. The position wasn't comfortable but it was far more bearable than sitting there with a hunched back.

He fell asleep to his friend's breathing, force his own breathing to go in rhythm with the second prisoner's. He dreamed of a relaxing touch on his back, a warm and soothing sensation washing over it then prodding and poking all around his body. He twitched and squirmed under the touch of whatever- he could not make out what or who was touching through the darkness. He was floating, exactly like he was in his cell back at the core…

Suddenly, he felt his eyelids open but not to reality. A great, blue light shined in them and he was pinned to the floor, paralyzed and unable to push the light away; his mind seemed captured too, since it thought of nothing else besides this shining blue light. He could do one thing though. He opened his mouth and let out a terrible wail and started to flail around, fighting against the invisible bounds that held him…

There was a voice. He recognized it but did not wake up. He went on struggling and screaming and howling. The voice came again and that time he could make out the words: "Shut up!" Another heartbeat, he started to wail again and barely realized that he was now laying on his stomach. The soothing sensation on his back turned into a burning, painful feeling. He felt like a knife was skimming over his skin and was pulling away his skin away and he felt a liquid spill over his back, dripping down and away from his body. He panicked even more as the dream become more and more real…

"Be quiet!" There was a wild shaking and kicking and with a gasp, the first prisoner woke up with a very dry throat and a salty taste in his mouth. The only thing he remembered from his dream was the end; the knife touching his back and the blood spilling over…

He gave a violent shudder and saw that the brightness in the little prison had changed. There was shuffling and clicking as the second prisoner moved back to his original spot; he had to shake and kick the other man awake from the nightmare.

The first prisoner could actually see now. The man in front of him hadn't changed besides the dark circles underneath his eyes and the no scruff on his chin, like the last time he remembered seeing him. His eyes were slightly darker perhaps, but that was probably from the stress.

The first prisoner felt happy tears well in his eyes and he snorted randomly; the man in front of him chuckled. It sounded just as tired and hoarse as before but it also sounded much more alive than last night; obviously, he needed the sleep.

The first prisoner was getting quite sick of the wild ride his emotions were giving him. He decided he needed his wall back up; oh how he missed it dearly! The wall made him feel safe and secure in his own head; perhaps his wall wasn't suppose to do that but he didn't care. He just felt so weak and vulnerable without it…

He closed his eyes and sighed quietly, imaging the first day when he was in his cell. For the first few moments, he enjoyed the floating; he laid right on his back, with arms and legs spread out and let the air blowing in it touch and caress his skin. The antigravity seemed amazingly awesome and peaceful and full of bliss the first day.

Then the middle of the night he cried his heart out as he realized day in and day out, he would be stuck here till the end of his days. It wasn't something that could be taken lightly at all. He went numb and emotionless a few days after that first night or so he thought. With most things nowadays, he was never quite sure about anything anymore…

Their moving prison stopped moving. The first prisoner felt his heart start to frantically pound against his chest; his ribs even started to ache and he wondered if his friend- he still could not bring up a name- could hear his heart beating. The blood rushed to his ears; his mouth tasted of nervous sweat.

His friend looked at him, sorrow buried deep within his eyes.

"It appears we're at the end, my friend."

The first prisoner gave the man a wide-eyed, panicked and frightened look before they were blinded as suddenly the cage was flooded with light. He hadn't realized or even thought that the cage was covered with merely a thick grey blanket.

Unable to fight and left blinded, he felt people grab at him. His little cuff disappeared and now regular rope was used; his arms were pulled behind his back as he was shoved to the floor, his cheek pressed hard against the strong metal. He struggled faintly but knew it was the same as being captured before his imprisonment.

Once they had you on the floor they flooded you with so many soldiers or just regular people (who served the government), that you couldn't get back up. It was a saddening thing. The first prisoner gave no fight. He spoke no words; but in his head, he was smiting them all onto spears and watching the ground beneath them turn a rusty color.

They dragged him in the dirt with his back to where they were taking him. Through squinted eyes, he watched the dust cover up his pants legs. His lips were pursed in a thin, straight line of anger. He heard his friend groan slightly as they dragged him. Then he heard the whoosh of the air and a sickening thud as a boot collided with his friend's side rib.

That's what broke down his wall of blank emotion. He screeched and burst his eyes open, his nostrils flaring angrily and he struggled against his capturer's hold on his arms. For a one moment, he thought he was getting the upper hand of the fight. Then he saw the swing of the mighty dark grey boot and knew he had lost.

It hit his chest right in the middle, right on his sternum and he felt it rattle his whole body, shake all his bones and he groaned before coughing as his lungs tried to quickly recover from the pain. He knew he would be sore for the rest of this execution.

He wasn't sure if he became unconscious or was barely paying attention so much, he didn't notice the sudden change of scenery. His eyes were halfway open and as soon as he was thrown to the ground, his hands quickly cut free of the ropes, he opened them all the way and looked around.

He appeared to be in almost a metal dome. Except its top was wide open; open to a grey, polluted sky. He breathed lightly through his mouth and inwardly winced as his chest throbbed. He rolled to his stomach and slowly pushed himself up, looking around warily. There was a stadium all around him, filled with quite a lot of people. They stared down at him; he could make out awed, scared, angry faces among blank, emotionless masks.

His friend was already standing and squinting towards the stands. Then looked down and pulled at the fabric of his jumpsuit.

"Those damn bastards," he swore under his breath. The first prisoner looked down at his own clothing and felt his eyes widen in anger. His hand curled into a fist, clutching the fabric furiously. The government had clothed them like dolls!

He let go and looked around again, this time spinning in a circle to see where the government was. Once he located them, he gritted his teeth. They sat in the highest part of the stadium, far away from the prisoners.

The government had many ways of killing and getting rid of criminals. And that stadium was just one of the many.


End file.
